My Love Letter


I was having a networking conversation yesterday and ended up talking some about all of the skills I have and things I have done — yet it’s true that the thought “I haven’t amounted to much” or some variation thereof can creep in often.

So, today, in celebration of Life deciding to become Me, I felt inspired to write myself a letter of celebration and love of what it IS to be “me”:


It’s to have both a zest for life and a desire to know and live the truth. To be quite serious and also have a deep love for the sensual world — its sights, sounds, and TASTES

It’s to not always have a great sense of humor.

It’s to have a keen intellect that is able to draw together information from many different areas, connect, synthesize and then talk about them in a down-to-earth and accessible manner.

It’s to be precocious and a front-runner and often feeling lonely or like I don’t fit in.

It’s to love poetry and a good turn of phrase and to long to and sometimes succeed at speaking eloquently myself. It’s to be a really good editor.

It’s to want to have real conversations with real people in real time — to go on the journey of life, get more skillful and joyful in it, and to take others on that journey too.

It’s to first and foremost be a teacher — and a lover.

It’s to love solitude and to want intimate companions.

It’s to dig into a spreadsheet like nobody’s business in the wee hours of the morning, to help kids do better in math, to spend hours at the grocery store for fun, to cook amazing food, to love greens and French fries — oh, and Bourbon.

It’s to have never for one moment wanted to be a mother. It’s to be a lover of dogs and to have found myself surprisingly Gaga over a cat.

It’s to have a deep love for and knowledge of bodies — mine and yours. To know how to align them and nourish them. And to increasingly feel great in and about mine — listening to its wisdom, feeling its beauty.

It’s to be overwhelmed by bigness and noise and long for silence.

It’s to feel shy and awkward in a crowd and sometimes hang out by the buffet table or bar to cope.

It’s to not be particularly tidy in the kitchen (or anywhere)

It’s to love muscle cars — Corvette, I’ve got my eye on you!

It’s to be willing to take leaps, change directions, say “yes” to where life is leading me, forge a new path, take a chance on love.

It’s to care very deeply about the love I ended.

It’s to think about my amazing friends often — and to wonder if they think about me as much as I think about them.

It’s to want to shake it down to the blues as often as I can.

It’s to fear that I talk too loudly or too much or too arrogantly at times.

It’s to like to wear tight clothes.

It’s to love physical touch, affection, and undivided attention.

It’s to be interested in many things but not feel the urgency to do any one thing. It’s to want to be useful but also to have plenty of time for solitude. It’s to not really want to work that hard.

It’s to sometimes dream of walking away from everything into anonymity and working as a waitress in a diner in Nova Scotia. Or Santa Fe. Or hang out at cafes in Paris.

It’s to be a fool for New Orleans — its people, its music, its culture, its being

It’s to have developed the capacity to give soul-level guidance and healing and be freakin’ astonished that it works.

It’s to have the tendency to overdrink and overeat and overspend in my zest for life. And to be ready to get better at that.

It’s to have a lot of difficulty expressing my upset because I don’t want to hurt someone else or deal with their hurt. And also realizing this isn’t honest and working on it out of love for all of us.

It’s to have done what it takes to work through childhood messaging of guilt, sin and unworthiness to come to a deep, abiding love and appreciation for who and what I am.

It’s to wake up in the morning feeling the pleasure and value of being me.

If you want to learn how to feel the pleasure of being you, to be your own biggest love, join me in my Write Yourself a Love Letter Workshop.